6 Kinds of Pain
by three-golden-mockingjays
Summary: Six kinds of pain Haymitch Abernathy goes through, and only five ways to fix them. An insight into Haymitch's life, pain, and solutions.
1. The Pain of Owing

Haymitch is a poor kid. He's one of those kids who'll work in the mines from the day he turns eighteen. He's one of those kids who fails every class in school, because he's got no stationary and no ambitions. He's one of those kids that knows how to throw punches by the age of eight. He's one of those kids who grow up too fast, and is destined to be an eternal pessimist.

Despite his poverty, sourness and myriad of additional negative traits, Haymitch can say one thing: he's a good brother. Sure, his little sister doesn't have much to show for this, but that's for lack of resources, not lack of trying.

Little Rebekah Abernathy has only ever been teased once, and it's never happened again. That's because of the state of the bullies the next day at school, black eyes and swollen jaws. Haymitch Abernathy bears a split lip, but he bears it with pride. Rebekah Abernathy never has to go collect the firewood in the bitter winds, because Haymitch volunteers the second she's asked.

That said, Rebekah Abernathy never has enough to eat, either. She's never felt warm, properly warm, in winter. Haymitch's embrace of her tiny figure isn't enough to stop her toes going numb during the night. Rebekah's never felt full, not in her memory. But there's not much her brother can do about those things that he hasn't tried already.

Rebekah's a tough little thing, and has inherited a scowl from her brother. She doesn't smile all too much. She can look after herself, despite Haymitch's attempts to shield her. No matter what he does, she grows up just like all the other kids in the Seam: too fast.

So, Haymitch decides that what Rebekah needs for her thirteenth birthday, is something to make her smile. Something to make her feel like a kid again. Haymitch thinks back to their childhood, and is hit with memories of that overpowering sweet scent.

Before Rebekah had realised that the place was far too good for her, she'd dream of the sweet shop. Buying sweets, eating sweets, even getting a job there and selling sweets. Haymitch never told her the Donners would never hire a good for nothing Seam kid, but he suspects she's figured it out by now. She hasn't dragged him down that street in years.

But perhaps a few sweets would bring her back to those happier, more naïve times. There is only the problem now, of amassing the money to get thems. He has enough for perhaps one, but to bring one sweet would be shameful. He has to prove he's a better brother than that. Poverty isn't an excuse in Haymitch's eyes.

That night, he waits in the shadows at the merchant girls walk past. Blondes, most of them. With their ironed skirts and hair ribbons. He thinks about selecting Maysilee Donner, who walks alone, but decides it would be purposeless to steal the money from the girl who works at the counter of the sweet shop and then give it straight back. He waits longer, and it rewarded.

Helena Parkins walks alone just like Maysilee did before her, and her dad doesn't own the sweet shop. Haymitch tries not to be too brutal. Helena won't have any bruises tomorrow, but she won't have the contents of her purse either. Haymitch takes note of the amount of money he has taken, making a silent promise. If he has the chance, he'll give the money back one day. It's not that Rebekah would mind, a bit of a street thief herself, but he doesn't like to owe people.

As he walks home, he feels a pain in his chest. Despite his mental promise to himself, his vow to pay back Helena Parkins, the pain of owing someone is already there. The pain of owing is white. Empty and unfillable, something broken that cannot easily be fixed. Rebekah may smile as she eats the sweets he will buy, but they will be bought by a girl with unusually dark hair for a town girl, milky white skin and freckles. They will be Helena Parkins' gift to his sister.

He hates the pain of owing.

* * *

Haymitch fixes this aching pain three years later, when he comes home from the Hunger Games with a head full of blood more money than Helena herself. He buys her an armful of sweets and gives her fives times the amount he stole from her. She looks bemused when he turns up at her doorstep, tipsy and laden with gifts that more than recompense the petite girl.

"Are these for me?" she asked, smiling politely. Haymitch is known as a bit of an oddity these days.

"Yeah," he manages, as the gifts tumble from his grip onto Helena's doorstep, "I stole from you once. To buy my sister some lollies."

Helena smiles a little sadly, "I'd almost forgotten Haymitch. You didn't have to do this."

"I did," Haymitch knows that Helena doesn't understand the pain of owing. How you can't look them in the eye, in case you saw that dark part of yourself that they took in.

"Would you like to come in?" Helena asks. Haymitch can tell she doesn't really want him. The last thing he'd like to do is owe her again.

"No," Haymitch shakes his head, "Let's just call it even here."

* * *

**Hey lovely readers! I just typed that up while watching LOTR, so if there are typos, I'm sorry, I tried. I love Haymitch as a character and I had a lot of fun writing this piece. As there are six pains in the title, I'm sure you guys have gathered that we'll have six chapters. I'm going to explore plenty of different times in Haymitch's life, and his relationship with lots of different people, especially Maysilee Donner. I'm a bit of a Haysilee shipper :)**

**Please drop a review, because I would love feedback or suggestions as to the direction of this story. It's still very young and open to change. I've got plans, but I write to please you guys, not me. Either way, thanks for reading!**

** xx - L.**


	2. The Pain of Loneliness

**2. The pain of loneliness**

When Haymitch is picked for the 50th Annual Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell, he can't honestly say that he's surprised. His odds were high enough with all the tesserae he's taking, and they then doubled when President Snow was broadcast all over Panem, telling the people of the districts that forty seven of their children would die this year, instead of twenty three. Of course, that's not how the President phrased it, but it's what everyone figured out soon enough.

Haymitch walks onto the stage, surly as ever, and takes his place next to the brightly coloured woman who draws the names every year. She must be getting old by now, but surgery prevents that from being apparent. The other two tributes are reaped. A boy, tall and strong and eighteen years old from the Seam, a tiny twelve year old with a scowl, and Maysilee Donner. He bought sweets from her once. Now he wonders if she'll make it past the five minute mark.

Standing next to a boy, two girls and a Capitol freak, Haymitch looks down at the crowd. Already, he feels a detachment from them. Those people who stand relieved, but not wanting to show it. Those people who cry silently as the people they love are chosen to die. He sees his mother, he sees his sister. He sees his girl, who really doesn't seem too upset, just shocked. Haymitch figures she'll find someone else soon enough. For all the physicality of the relationship, they never really knew each other that well. Haymitch knows he'll be easy to get over, in her case. Haymitch knows he'll be easily forgotten, in most cases.

He considers what would happen if he made it home. That's what he'll try to do, after all. His odds are low, but he's beaten odds before. Beaten bigger boys in fist fights, gotten away with things he shouldn't have gotten away with. He'll try to come home, and he might. But he does know that even if he does, this detachment will continue. He'll be lonely.

He hates loneliness. It pains him.

* * *

Haymitch has always been a solitary being, so when his mentor asks him if he'd like to make alliances, he tells her no. She sighs, and tells him he'll die, then proceeds to take a swig of that bottle of hers. He wonders whether he should tell her not to drink while so clearly pregnant, but decides against it. The way she clutches that bottle suggests complete and utter dependence, and he'll probably get it smashed over his head if he messes with that. He can't help but feel bad for the baby, though.

* * *

When he told his mentor he didn't want an alliance, he meant it. He didn't like people all too much - still doesn't, and didn't want any dead weight to carry with him. He's in these games to win them after all, unlike two of his fellow tributes. Boyd, despite his strength and size, has taken up his mentor's alcoholism already, if you can believe it. Tatia, a small girl from the Seam, doesn't even try to hide her cries at night. Maysilee said she would do her best to win, the night before the Games, but he doesn't have too much faith in her. Other districts are out of the question. He doesn't want to join up with a complete stranger. That would just be asking for a knife in the back. Haymitch has never been any good at reading people, and he's worried he wouldn't see it coming.

Despite all these reasons for Haymitch not to join an alliance, he feels lonely in the arena. Lonelier than he did up on that stage. The nights are worst. He'd take anyone right now. He thinks about his girl back home, who he's never properly treasured until now. Their relationship was largely based on emotional indifference to each other, physical closeness and a mutual hatred for the human race. He wishes he could hug her right now, feel her lips on his, talk about what idiots these people were.

Loneliness feels like the world is too big. Haymitch is kind of scared of big things, sometimes. Especially when he's so small in comparison. The world's a big one, stretching from the beaches of District Four to the woods of Seven to the slums of Twelve to the glittering lights of the Capitol. Haymitch is one boy.

The arena's pretty big too. There are twenty-nine of them left, and a lot of space. There was a hulking mountain, but it's blown its top now. There is a large expanse of forest. There is a field that feels like it stretches on forever, when you're running across it, exposed and vulnerable.

The world's too big for Haymitch Abernathy, but he'd be the last to admit it.

* * *

He fixes the pain of loneliness by… well, if he were to get technical, he doesn't fix it at all. Someone fixes it for him.

* * *

While Haymitch is wandering through the arena one day, thinking of big things, and wondering whether he could find the end of this arena and somehow make it more finite, he sees another big thing. Three big things, to be exact. Three big, hulking boys, who were a part of the original career pack. There are more of the trained killers left of course, two girls and a boy, but they went a different way. Haymitch just happens to stumble across this lot.

They look pleased when they find him, and he wonders how they could possibly savour these moments to come. That's his last thought before the adrenaline kicks in.

He's already disarmed and killed one of the more gormless careers when the next rushes at him. Honestly, he manages to think, they really are dumb. Why come at me one by one?

As though he hears Haymitch's disparaging thought, the third career comes to his senses and helps out his ally. It's getting difficult for Haymitch now. He dodges a knife swipe at his head. He kicks the strongest of them in the groin, and proceeds to wrestle with the other. There's so much blood on Haymitch's hands. He feels his nose break, but manages to get his knife into the gut of the strong boy, who rolls off him without much fight. Blood on Haymitch's shirt. Blood on Haymitch's face. Blood in Haymitch's eyes.

The third and final career hits him like a ton of bricks, and Haymitch knows that this one is the best of them all. Possibly better than Haymitch himself. Probably better than Haymitch himself.

Pinned to the ground, Haymitch looks up at the boy whose face is not three inches from his. He recognises him as the less favoured boy from District Four. The other boy had been something of a demigod, but Haymitch saw his face in the sky not all too long ago, courtesy of the volcano. This one is ugly, but strong. Too strong. Haymitch feels his own knife being turned to point towards his chest. Haymitch gives himself five seconds to muster enough strength to respond.

_Five._

Haymitch takes a deep breath. The knife, two hands gripping it tightly, doesn't move.

_Four._

The boy from Four pushes harder, and despite Haymitch's efforts, it's slowly but surely moving towards his chest.

_Three._

Haymitch shifts his body weight, hoping that this position is a stronger one. He needs all the strength he can get.

_Two._

The boy from Four smiles. The knife moves again. If Haymitch were to puff out his chest, it would probably touch the knife. Lucky he's skinny.

_One._

Haymitch uses all his body weight, and with a grunt, manages to unseat the boy from Four. They roll through the bloodstained grass. All Haymitch sees is red. He feels his head pulled up as he slumps into a kneeling position. There is a knee in his back and a knife at his throat. At least he won't die alone…

Maysilee Donner, merchant girl with too blonde hair and antagonist extraordinaire, saves his neck. Who would have guessed?

"We'd last longer with the two of us," she tells him, and he turns around to see her, blowgun in hand.

"I guess you just proved that," his head spins, but he focuses on her. Eventually her blonde hair stops swimming, and he finishes his sentence, "Allies?"

He wonders whether his mentor is sober enough to be surprised by his taking Maysilee as an ally. She shouldn't, really. Even if he wasn't so desperately lonely, Maysilee could probably kill him right here, right now. He assumes that those darts of hers are poisonous. If anything's plentiful in this arena, it's poison.

* * *

During the day, he and Maysilee argue.

"Why don't you like me?"

"You're a princess."

"I saved your life! I have poison darts! My hair has knots in it! I'm a warrior! Look at my scars!"

This makes Haymitch laugh, "Don't keep carrying on like that Mays, or I might start to like you."

* * *

In the evenings, she makes him prepare the food.

"Why am I the one preparing dinner?" he asks her, cutting up an apple.

"Because you got most of it, so you have the right to decide how much I get."

"We're getting even halves here sweetheart, what kind of gentleman do you think I am?" he laughs again. It feels so good to laugh, "I'm a little grimy and largely uneducated and I think that's pus on my nose but…"

"Oh, you reminded me!" Maysilee gasps, "I was going to fix your nose! I don't want infection."

At first he tries to push her away, but then realises getting looked after isn't the worst feeling. She wipes off the blood and pus with a damp cloth, then looks through the plants around them, "If Iris were here," she mumbles, "She would know which plants to get." She smells something with feathery leaves, and grabs a handful of something else with small leaves, "Yep, I'm sure these are right."

"Uh, sweetheart," Haymitch scrambles backwards, "If you're not 100% sure I'd rather you-"

"No, I'm practically 102% sure!" Maysilee smiles at him, holding up the herbs.

"Look Maysilee, you might be Iris' best friend, but your parents don't own an apothecary. If I wanted to know how to make those caramels then you'd be my girl, but-"

"Iris isn't here," Maysilee growls, scaring Haymitch just a little, "In case you haven't noticed, expert or not, I'm the only girl you've got today. This here, is yarrow and it encourages clotting, because in case you haven't noticed, your nose is still bleeding. This is coptis, and it has plenty of antibacterial properties. Now sit still or I'll kill you."

"It's just my nose," Haymitch protests weakly, but sits still as Maysilee does whatever it is she thinks she's doing.

His nose doesn't feel much better, but Maysilee's happy.

"All done!" she says brightly, "Oh, don't look so annoyed. You don't look gross anymore. Just rugged," she smiles at him, a laugh on the edge of her lips, "Broken noses suit you."

"Thanks sweetheart," he rolls his eyes, "But that's the last thing on my mind right now."

She shrugs, and Haymitch smiles. Maysilee Donner has fixed his loneliness.

* * *

**I didn't like this chapter as much as I liked the last one, but oh well. It was nice to finally write Maysilee in there. Do you like the way I write her, or does she seem OOC to you? I understand that this story isn't great, but I would enjoy some feedback. Also, I'm going away tomorrow, so you won't get another chapter until after the 22nd (of January.)**

**xx - L.**


	3. The Pain of the Cold

**3. The pain of the cold.**

As a poor boy, there are a lot of things Haymitch Abernathy goes without. Food, a proper bed and some boots with more boot than holes are the top of Haymitch's fanciful wish list. Another thing that he would really like is to be warm in winter. Or spring or autumn, but mainly winter. A few more blankets would help, and so would a proper jacket or a warm house. None of these are attainable.

As of a winter's night, it is not uncommon to see Haymitch, Rebekah and their single mother huddled together on the same bed. Even if they could afford more than just the one, they'd probably end up in the same bed anyway. The Abernathy family needs all the shared body heat they can get, with just that one thinning blanket. Haymitch sleeps with all of his socks on, except for one pair, which is blocking one of many draughts. His feet are still cold. His ears are cold. His back, which faces the wall and is largely uncovered, is very cold. It's snowing outside. Rebekah pretends not to cry.

* * *

In the arena, Haymitch thinks back to those nights. Despite an absence of any snow, and fairly warm days, the arena is frigid once the son goes down. There is no question as to the Game Makers being behind it. There can't be a natural cause. It reminds Haymitch of how fake everything is, and he wishes he had someone with him. Someone to prove that he isn't the only thing real in this arena. The plants? They're not real. He's never seen anything so awful growing in District Twelve. His knife has been made by the Capitol. The clothes he wears probably made in District 8, slightly better, but still a world away from his home.

He thinks about his home, and wonders how cold it is there. Rebekah and his mother will at least have his clothes to wear at night, now that he's not there to wear them. Maybe Rebekah is wearing his pants on top of hers. His mother's probably wearing that jumper of his, as worn and thinned as it may be. His socks are likely wedged under the door.

He pulls his knees closer to his chest, so as to make himself small so that his blanket covers his shoulders. His feet are cold inside his boots, despite them being perfectly dry. He wonders if he should go for a walk. What if he falls asleep and never wakes up? His blanket might not be enough. He hopes it's enough. He puts his hands in his armpits and uses his teeth to pull the blanket up. The iciness of his hands burns the warmer skin around his ribs.

He aches, he stings, he feels a constant pain. Cold is one of the worst, because it never abates. He'd take a cut over this torture any day. He knows that sleep is important, but he's not getting a lot of it in this temperature. The pain of wakefulness is added to the pain of the cold.

Cold is blue. Nothing living is blue. There are no blue plants, and only a handful of birds with blue feathers. If you forget the birds, things only really turn blue once they die. Blue mould on rotten bread that Haymitch once contemplated eating. Blue tinged ice, that has killed many times back home. Once he saw a boy only six years old run over some ice to get his ball. The ice broke, the boy died. It's hard to say whether the cold or the water got him first. Haymitch thinks back to a blue corpse that he once found, a homeless person perished on the streets.

She was a woman, he remembers. Blue nose, blue lips, blue fingertips. She slept on the steps of the grocer's store, but the people who owned it didn't let her in. He wonders what they thought in the morning. He wonders if they felt bad. He can't feel his nose, and wonders if it is blue like the woman's. He wonders if they'll share the same fate.

He'd kill in a heartbeat for some mittens. Or a beanie. Or a jacket. The Game Makers didn't even give them a bloody jacket. They probably like to see them cold. He probably does look mildly funny, if you're brainwashed enough not to realise how cruel it all is.

Haymitch hates them all, but right now, he hates the cold.

* * *

When he finds Maysilee, or moreover, when Maysilee finds him, one of the first things he asks her is whether she's got anything for keeping warm. The answer is a painfu no. She's been resourceful though, using extra socks on her hands, building small shelters or pine needle beds, rubbing fat from animals she'd killed onto her skin.

"Well I've got a blanket," Haymitch tells her roughly, "But it's not very big or very warm. So don't get too excited."

Maysilee shrugs, "Things'll be easier with two of us."

On their first night together, Haymitch volunteers to take the first watch. His nose is still stinging from the herbs that Maysilee applied, and his mind's too busy for any sort of rest. She lies down and he sits, and she goes to sleep quickly curled up under the blanket. Haymitch wonders if he too, will fall asleep more easily with the comfort of an ally. Haymitch and Maysilee are in a mutual understanding that neither will kill the other.

Through the night Maysilee tosses and turns. Her nightmares must be something like his. He can't sleep properly without seeing that boy from District Four pressing the knife to his chest. Almost dying has many Haymitch think too much about death. Death's possibly scariest when it's survived, because one remembers the moment they thought they would never have to remember.

Haymitch tries to ignore the thrashing of his district partner, tries to forget she's even a person. He's decided that he wants to go home, and that means Maysilee can't. He looks out at the arena, his arms folded tightly. It feels cold enough for snow, but there is none. Maysilee's socks are on his hands. He looks down, and Maysilee's shivering. She's tossed the blanket off in her nightmare-induced movements. It's probably almost time for her to take the watch anyway.

He thinks about waking her up, but something stops him. If he wakes her up now, she'll wake up freezing and probably scared, if her nightmares are anything like his. They must be. What else would they be about? So, carefully and silently, he slowly moves the blanket back over her. He pauses, then wipes some hair from her face. He feels a slight jump in his stomach as he does so.

Not good.

He folds his arms again, and pretends Maysilee isn't there. Much better. But still, doubts lie in his mind. He can't pretend Maysilee's not a human anymore. Maysilee's the only thing he's got that's real. She's perfect and untarnished and funny and kind, and Haymitch thinks she might just be the death of him.

"No Haymitch," he tells himself sternly, (the lack of sleep must be kicking in,) "You're just sparing her from the pain of the cold."

* * *

He fixes the pain of the cold the next night. It's as frigid as always, and this time Maysilee's got first watch. He huddles under the blanket, but doesn't sleep. He watches her shiver, those pathetic socks on her hands.

"Maysilee," he whispers eventually, when it finally gets through his frozen brain, "We're the biggest idiots in Panem."

She looks at him, surprised to see him awake and more surprised to see him initiating conversation.

"Are we?"

"Yes we are," Haymitch sits up. He wonders whether the cameras are capturing this after he declared himself the smartest of all the tributes in his interview. Well, sometimes good ideas take time. Lack of sleep can't have helped, "It's freezing, and we're missing the best source of warmth in the whole arena."

"If we're hiking to some place that is apparently half a degree warmer than here-" Maysilee begins, but is cut off.

"Body heat, sweetheart."

Maysilee looks confused, but only for a fraction of a second, "Right. So we should…"

Haymitch decides that annoying her is worth the extra energy, opening the tightly wound blanket and dipping his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolls her eyes, but wriggles over until she's lying next to him. He wraps himself around her the way he would with Rebekah, but he can feel that this is different, even in the name of survival. She's probably benefiting from this more than he is warmth-wise, but he decides that as the larger of the two it is his job. He tries to pretend it's only Rebekah.

"Haymitch," she whispers eventually, and he awkwardly moves his head from her hair, trying to catch a glimpse of her face in the darkness, "This isn't going to work."

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asks, feeling the exhaustion and a rush of cold as she sits up and exposes his front to the wind.

"I'm too comfortable," Maysilee tells him, "I'm going to fall asleep. Can you sleep sitting up? We really do need a conscious guard."

He nods, and even though Maysilee can't see him, she takes the absence of a sarcastic comment as assent. The two reposition themselves quietly so that they're leaning against a broad tree. Once covered completely under the blankets, with the exception of their heads, Haymitch begins to nod off. The problem is, his head lolls determinedly to the left side, onto Maysilee's shoulder. He feels embarrassed, despite their previous physical closeness, and catches himself every time. It does mean that he finds it difficult to sleep, though.

Maysilee notices. "Haymitch, go to sleep," she takes his head in her hands and guides it onto his shoulder, "I don't mind, you know."

"Thanks sweetheart," he mumbles, and has one thought before he finally drifts off. Here, arms entwined with Maysilee's, hips touching and his head on her shoulder, he is no longer cold.

* * *

**Sorry for the time that took to get up! I kept getting distracted by other stories I've decided to begin writing. If there's anything I really hate, it's multitasking. I'm exceptionally bad at it. However, you do finally have a new chapter. Do enjoy it! If you're reading my story ****_Aspirations, _****I'll have a chapter up soon. I'm thinking Monday. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter!**

**xx - L.**


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